


Into Your Paradise

by kittensmctavish



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Smut, Girls Kissing, I'm Bad At Tagging, Making Love, Making Out, My First Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 18:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: It’s not the first time tonight Eliza’s pushed you up against a wall to kiss the everloving shit out of you.(Originally posted to tumblr March 20, 2018.)





	Into Your Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from my tumblr of the same name.
> 
> This fic could also be titled: hey look a sex-repulsed ace wrote a smutfic this should be interesting.

It’s not the first time tonight Eliza’s pushed you up against a wall to kiss the everloving shit out of you.

(The first time was…an hour ago? Hour and a half? Anyway, it was at the karaoke bar, after you’d performed, and you’d ducked into the bathroom to wet a paper towel with cold water and cool down because stage lights were hot and performing a song sexier than you usually did – thank you, dare from the boys to live a little – probably had your face red regardless. Then the door had opened, Eliza made a beeline for you, and her mouth was on yours as she backed you up against dingy white stucco, hands roaming your body. You’d been a bit too shocked to respond in full – just close your eyes and enjoy the ever-growing familiarity of your girlfriend kissing you…VERY enthusiastically before whispering against your lips that she needed to get you home. NOW.) (And then she left and you had to get a new paper towel with cold water because you were all hot and bothered again.)

Second time is infinitely better because it’s your bedroom wall. And she hasn’t caught you offguard – rather, you’ve braced yourself against it and pulled her by the lapel of her coat so you can meet her in the kiss, if not start it. So your fingers can dart from the lapel to the buttons and clumsily undo them and push the coat off of her, moving your head only to adjust the angle of the kiss and drink her in deeper. She’s tugging your cardigan off as your reach up for her hair, clipped up in something twisty and elegant. It clatters against the dresser (you’re a bit too preoccupied to see if you’d managed to toss it ON TO the dresser) and your hands dive into long raven sheets of silk. A lock snags, loops around your finger, and you inadvertently pull too hard.

Any thoughts of apologizing dissipate when the result is Eliza moaning into your mouth. Because THAT’S new and…not unwelcome. You test again, threading your fingers through the strands, tugging again, harder. Her response is to tug at the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss to yank it off you as quickly as she can before her arms are around you, taking in as much of your bare skin as she can.

She’s still mostly clothed, which is hardly fair. It’s been hardly fair all night to look as good in a black dress as she does, has, whatever, the fucking thing just needs to come off. The zipper slides down with as much ease as can be mustered. (Given that Eliza’s fumbling with the button of your jeans and her teeth are scraping against your neck, you’re amazed you don’t snag the zipper on the fabric and get the thing hopelessly stuck.) But soon your fingers are trailing up her bare back, skimming over the band of her bra, and she steps away to free her arms and let the dress pool at her feet. Your jeans soon follow suit.

You wish you owned…like…actual sexy lingerie? Or at least a bra that wasn’t plain nude-colored whatever-was-cheapest-at-Target. Gone for style over comfort. But how Eliza’s looking at you…

…it reminds you of that hour, hour and a half ago when she’d broken the impromptu kiss. In the drive home, when fingers had brushed innocently against your knee and then not so innocently trailed up your thigh and up and up…and you looked over at her, breath hitching, and…

Eliza pulls you closer, whispering your name and a “fuck me” before kissing you again. (The “fuck me” is more of an interjection…but the hint of request is in there, too.)

You’re away from the wall now, and still kissing, Eliza guiding you towards your bed. Underestimating the distance between wall and bed because the back of your legs hit the bed sooner than either of you are expecting, and you fall back on to the mattress with a little yelp. You can’t help but laugh at the abrupt interruption to what has been building all night. Eliza’s laughing, too, an apology mixed in there, muffled by her covering her mouth. You assure her with an “I’m okay, I’m okay” as you shift yourself further up the bed, head propping against pillows.

As the laughter subsides, the momentary fondness in Eliza’s eyes is replaced with the hunger from before. You glance over every inch of her, every curve, the lace of her underwear. Her mussed hair, the slight way she’s biting her lip…you wonder how you got so fucking lucky. Your eyes travel back up to her face. Her own eyes are lowered, seeming to take you in as well. You feel your face heat up again. Her eyes snap back up at you, pupils blown, dark, shining. That look makes you feel as though you WERE the sexiest person on the fucking planet, dressed in scarlet and lace instead of your plain underclothing.

She takes an agonizingly slow step towards the bed before propping one knee next to one side of you, pushing herself over you, on to the bed, crawling up your body.

“Do you have any idea how good you looked up there?” she whispers as she straddles you, leans down over you, kisses you thoroughly, deeply, reverently. “Any fucking idea?” (You’re quickly deciding that Eliza swearing is your second favorite sound in the world…first one was established a few minutes ago.)

“I’m getting some idea,” you manage to say as her lips move to your jawline, your neck, your ear (she nips at your earlobe and your breath and brain stutter and there goes any hope for words anymore).

“I don’t know how you could ever say you can’t sing songs like that,” she murmurs against your skin as her lips continue to travel – back down your neck, to your shoulder, your collarbone, where she lingers there, sucking hard for a long while. When she’s done admiring the mark she’s left, she presses a kiss to it. “I wanted to run on to that stage and kiss you right there. In front of everyone. Tell them ‘back off; this one’s MINE’.”

Her hands roam your body as she speaks, linger at your hips.

“They couldn’t take their fucking eyes off you.”

Your waist.

“Neither could I.”

The edge of your bra. Fingers dart to behind your back to undo the hooks, loosen the constraint of the fabric on your breasts.

“Needed to get you out of there.”

Hands trail up your shoulders, to the now-loose straps.

“Needed to get you alone.”

Arms slip through straps, and she tosses the garment aside.

“Needed YOU. BURNING for you.”

As she kisses you again, you’re reaching up to pull her down, settle the whole of her body against yours, fiddling with the clasps of her bra.

“I’ve dreamt about this,” she murmurs as you unhook the garment. “Far too many times.” Your body jolts as her fingers brush your bare breasts, tracing, teasing. “Lost count of how many times I’ve cried out your name.”

Her fingers tweak a nipple, pinch it. You flinch, a pained cry escaping you. She halts her ministrations, gazing down on you with momentary concern.

“Maybe…not that,” you say, suddenly bashful. Feeling suddenly stupid.

“Okay.” Eliza presses kisses to your cheeks; the sheer want has given way for her usual sweetness and care. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fine, it’s just…” This is new and you don’t know entirely what you like and don’t like.

“If it doesn’t feel good…if anything doesn’t feel good…tell me.” The sweet and spice are intermingling as her kisses move from cheek to neck to jaw. “I wanna make you feel good.” She nips at the earlobe she hadn’t nipped before.

“That feels good,” you say, gasping as she nips again, harder.

“I know.”

The vixen is back.

Her unhooked bra, at this point, has loosened completely from her shoulders and slipped down her arms, resting against your body. She’s paid no mind to it, casually freeing her hands from it and tossing it in the direction where your bra had gone as you watch her travel down the expanse of your body. Kisses pressed further down your neck to your breastbone, hands cupping your breasts while minding where you’d flinched before (and this…her hands on your breasts…yeah, this is good, super good, you fucking LOVE this). Further down, lips on navel, over belly fat, hands slipping to the band of your underwear, fingers hooking it, teasing, sliding it down slowly, enough for you to kick it off gently. Hands trail up legs, to thighs, finger slips into…

You gasp. Eliza grins against your stomach.

“Oh, baby…”

Her hand lingers there, brushing, finger slips out…then back in. Not deep. Testing. It doesn’t feel any less…again, words aren’t possible.

“You feel amazing.”

“Amazing” still feels inaccurate, you manage to think before her thumb brushes higher and it’s such a jolt that you moan. Eliza huffs small giggles against your chest and neck as her fingers continue to tease you.

“You are so pretty like this,” she whispers. “So fucking gorgeous.” Her thumb brushes again. Another strangled moan. With the hand that’s not busy between your thighs, she reaches for your other hand, squeezes it. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay.”

You’ve tried this before. Many times. With all your effort, you’ve never been able to feel as much as you feel right now. Not even close. This may very well kill you. Your head is spinning, this feels so good.

“I’d love to watch you fall apart like this…stay inside you just like this, get you off just like this…” Her finger curls. Your toes curl. You almost whimper as her fingers withdraw from between your legs and you watch her lick them clean; your breath hitches because that’s actually really fucking hot. “Maybe some other time. Right now, though…” She kisses your breastbone and trails down once more to your stomach…then lower…then she’s gently pushing your legs further apart as her lips flutter across your inner thighs. You’re of mind long enough to glance down at her, her hands at your waist, kissing further and further up until her mouth….

As you lie back at the first jolt of HOLY FUCK, like you’ve been pushed back by an unseen force, you mentally retract your earlier statement.

THIS may very well kill you.

Not quite as deep as her fingers went, but the assault on your senses is so much more prolonged, more constant, and Eliza knows JUST where to linger to draw more moans (and the occasional “oh god…oh fuck”) from you. You blindly reach down, thinking you want to hold her hand, ground yourself in some way, but your fingers find her hair instead, snagging in the strands, tugging.

She moans against you. Fleetingly, you start to understand why people invest in vibrators, as the sensation draws a “FUUUCK” out of you. She giggles, and that’s certainly not helping matters any more than the moan did. It’s amazing you know your own name at this point.

Her hands slide from your waist to wrap around your thighs as she delves deeper into you. You arch your back, into her, needing more of her, more of another well-placed moan that sends vibrations through your whole being. You honestly don’t know how long you are in this dizzy haze – seconds, minutes, hours? – you just know that everything builds and builds and builds…

…and then from behind your eyelids, stars explode, and you cry out as the tension inside you breaks. You fall back on the bed, breathing heavily, every part of your body limp.

Eliza draws her mouth away from you, hands lingering at your thighs reassuringly, gives you a moment to recover. To open your eyes. She raises herself slightly, pushes her hair back from her face. She bites her lip in a self-satisfied grin, licks her bottom lip from where the taste of you lingers.

It’s maybe the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You close your eyes again, still reeling from everything. Her kisses are soft and wet against your skin as she pulls herself up towards you and settles next to you.

“You okay?” she asks. You huff out a laugh.

“I think I forgot my own name,” you manage. And she practically cackles. You join her in the laughter as you turn your body towards hers, eyes opening. Christ, she’s stunning…

You’re not sure if she leans in first or you. But she kisses you so sweetly…so innocently…as though she hasn’t just brought you to heaven and back.

And with that observance, one thought…one goal…comes to you…and you draw her closer, deepen the kiss, taste what’s left of you on her lips, shift her body so she’s under you.

Because what she made you feel…you want to try and return that feeling. You want to bring her to heaven.

(That, and you realize you haven’t gotten to explore her body nearly as thoroughly as she’s explored yours, and that’s just not fair.)

On her neck, her perfume still lingers, something of vanilla and tuberose and some unknown spice. It mingles on your tongue with the salt of sweat.

You linger long and lovingly at her breasts, marvel at how perfectly they fit in your hands, how soft they are, revel in the hitch of her breath as you brush over a nipple.

“Good?” you ask, brushing your thumb over it again.

“Very,” she says, strangled. You gently pinch. Her back arches up ever so slightly as she cries out.

“Thought there had to be a reason you tried it on me,” you snicker as you lean down to kiss her breast, graze your teeth over before moving on. Eliza’s mouth is open in a soundless sound and it’s so fucking pretty.

You trace her belly, the faint definition of her abs, with your lips, your tongue. She is so unbelievably soft and sweet and warm. Your hands find her underwear, and you slip your hand underneath, pull it down, deliberately brush your hand against her as you do, fingers teasing her thigh, her calf, her ankle.

You pull yourself back up to kiss her, swallow whatever sound she makes as your fingers begin to tease, try to recreate what she had done for you. Moving your hand just so… easing out and back in…brush your thumb against—there it is. There’s that sound you wanted from her.

She is warm and deep and soft and you curl your finger and she groans into your mouth and it vibrates through every inch of you. God.

As you tease, you get a wicked idea. Subtly, you thread your hand in her hair, as though to kiss her more deeply. And then, with another brush of your thumb, simultaneously, you tighten your hold on her long black hair and TUG.

She pulls away with a desperate groan, breathing hard. You withdraw almost at once.

“You okay?” you ask, combing your fingers through her hair gently. “That not good?”

“Opposite,” she manages to rasp, a sardonic smile on her lips. “You keep that up…this is gonna be over really soon.” She grins up at you, bringing one shaky hand up to draw your face in for a kiss.

“Well,” you say, breaking the kiss gently, “we can’t have that. Not quite done with you yet.”

You’re half-tempted to take your sweet time exploring her body with your lips again (honestly, you could do that for hours). You don’t. Her legs are already instinctively opening for you, feet propped up on the mattress, knees bent, You raise your head to kiss one knee, then the other, alternating kisses right and left, right thigh, left thigh, closer and closer until…

All you have to go off of is Eliza with you earlier, and her reactions now. The first reaction being almost a sigh of relief (you glance up when you hear it – her head is tossed back, lips parted). You try to remember what she had done that made you feel the most, work at where your fingers had drawn such beautiful sounds out of her…

…she prompts you.

“Higher…left…le—FUUUUCK, yes, more, PLEASE more GOD…” and then nothing but stuttering cries of “Ahh!”.

Her back arches and she’s pushing into you, half-coherent pleas escaping her. Her legs draw closer to you, and you feel her toes curling next to you, heels digging into your sides. You glance up, reach up, trail fingers down her breastbone, find her breast, tweak her nipple, offer the other the same courtesy. It’s the loudest moan yet. You can’t help but huff laughter against her. And then THAT’S the loudest moan yet.

You do not stop. You keep moving and trying and testing and tasting and can only assume that you’re doing this right, that she’d tell you if you weren’t. From the way your name sounds on her lips, from the way her fingers curl into the blanket, you’re on the right track.

You can’t help but sigh and smile into her…god…you could do this for hours…intend to in the future…learn her body better…allow her to flood your senses like this.

All too soon, her whole body tenses. Legs tighten around you, and you squeeze her thigh reassuringly, anchoring her through it as her almost-desperate, relieved cries fill the room, peter off into heavy pants, and soon a long lingering exhale. Her knees slowly unbend, lowering to rest on the mattress, trembling. You run a hand over her leg gently.

You lift your head and peer up at her. Chest heaving, fingers uncurling from their death grip in your blanket, hair fanned all around her on the pillow as her eyes flutter open. She fumblingly reaches for you, pulls you up to her, kisses you, grins at the taste of herself on your lips.

“That was…” she whispers against your lips before kissing you again.

“About what you expected?” you suggest, and she giggles into your neck. “Can only get better from here?”

“Oh god, if that’s the case, I’m done for,” Eliza sighs, pressing a kiss to your breast. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Me either,” you admit. “You’re…” You can’t find words. You can only look at her. But she seems to get it.

“You too,” she says, kissing you again. Slow. Soft. Sweet.

“I love you.”

It leaves your mouth unbidden. But no less untrue. Her eyes shine.

“I love you, too.” You run your hand through her hair, and she rests her head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and you both just…bask in this love for a while.

Eventually, you both get up, make for the bathroom, turn the shower on. You help with her long hair and she regards the mark she left on you with a fond concern (“it doesn’t hurt, does it?” “no.”)

You strip the bed of the blanket, crawl under the sheets with her. She looks better in a pair of your pajamas than you do. You fall asleep curled next to her, so full of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback welcome and appreciated. (That said, because it's ace's first smut, please be kind.)


End file.
